


(Not So) Brief Encounters

by Asselin



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21878857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asselin/pseuds/Asselin
Summary: Between performing at the Opera and being stalked by the resident ghost, Erik and Raoul have their hands full.
Kudos: 7





	(Not So) Brief Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera does not belong to me or mine. I am not making money off of this story, nor do I intend to.
> 
> 2019 EDIT: A few years ago, I planned to remove all my posted stories from this account and only use it to leave kudos occasionally. However, removing what were gifts to other people without even a warning was a mistake, so as of now I'm reposting all of my Yuletide works.  
> And thank you, CousinShelley, for sending me the email that started this!

The Opera Populaire is one of the finest opera houses in Paris, so when the news comes out that one of the dancers working there--a Raoul Chagny, to be exact--has disappeared, the incident spreads like wildfire. The police are not called in, curiously, but the next evening sees many more people flocking to the opera than usual.

Several local gossips suggest that perhaps the managers and Monsieur Chagny arranged this little stunt for publicity, and the whole of Paris seems to mull this over.

For his own part, Erik finds himself more concerned than he would like. He wonders what became of Raoul, for in the two months that Erik has been working at the Opera, the young man has never been absent for any reason. He isn’t worried--not at all, merely...curious. Briefly, he wonders if the gossips are on to something, but quickly deserts the idea--Raoul is far too honest to ever agree to something of that sort.

He spends the entire day ruminating over the question, and only just forces it aside in time to appear onstage, his mask of indifference firmly in place as he sings--like an angel as usual, he is pleased to note. During the performance, he does not miss Carlotta’s furious glare, but it only makes him smile. For if she still considers him a threat to Piangi’s position in the Opera, then it means he is still performing superbly.

The evening is a resounding success--of course--and Erik retreats to his dressing room as he is accustomed to doing.

What he is not accustomed to is finding a wild-eyed and dishevelled Raoul there as well.

Erik is tempted to gape for a moment, but he quickly smooths his usual bland expression into place. “This is my dressing room, you know,” he says, as calmly as if Raoul hadn’t been gone at all. Brushing past the dancer, he strips off his costume shirt and begins to pull on his usual one.

“I--I know,” Raoul replies. He draws his arms close to his body and presses back against the wall, looking like he would very much prefer to sink into it and hide from the world. “I didn’t think it would be... I didn’t want to go back there. Alone.”

Erik raises an eyebrow. “If you need a woman to hang off your arm, there are plenty of willing possibilities for you to find without my help.”

Raoul flinches as though the singer had struck him, shrinking further against the wall. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“I... nothing. It’s not important.” Straightening, Raoul half-bows and begins to make for the door.

It only takes a few quick steps for Erik to reach the door and slam his hand against it, effectively locking Raoul in the room with him. The dancer’s eyes meet his uneasily.

“I would thank you to remove your hand from the door, Monsieur,” Raoul says, his voice lacking any real force. Erik happily ignores the command.

“What makes a man--a man not given to taking a day off, mind--disappear for an entire day? Perhaps,” and here Erik leans in close to Raoul’s ear and whispers the rest confidentially, “he has a paramour? Someone he would rather not be brought into the light?”

Once more, Raoul flinches. “No,” he says. “There is no one. I was...feeling ill.”

“And yet you don’t sound convinced.”

The dancer’s eyes squeeze shut, and he presses the heels of his hands against the eyelids, letting out a despairing moan. “You will think me mad,” he whispers.

“At this rate, neither of us will be leaving any time soon, so you might as well tell me what has you cowering like a rabbit.”

“I...perhaps.” Several minutes pass in silence before Raoul speaks, his voice more small and frightened than Erik has ever heard from him before. “I saw her, Erik.”

“Who?” It looks as though he will still have to drag an explanation out of the dancer.

“Her. The masked woman, the Opera Ghost, the...the Phantom of the Opera. She was in my dressing room, calling me to her, in my mirror--”

“She’s after you too.” The words slide off his tongue like oil, before Erik can stop them.

Raoul looks astonished. “You’ve seen her as well?”

Erik’s mind flashes back to that evening, soon after he began working at the Opera Populaire, when a woman’s voice spoke to him as though she were by his ear. She had congratulated him on his success, as though there were nothing at all unnatural about speaking without being in the room. The tone of her voice had been like a mother when her child does something particularly clever, and she cooed over him most disgustingly, calling him her Angel of Music and various other meaningless things.

He had demanded that she show herself if she was not afraid of him. She had merely laughed, a pretty but cruel sound, and told him to look at himself in his mirror, and he would see her there. He had done so, and seen a woman standing there, as though on the other side of the full-length mirror, the massive hoop skirt of her ballgown belling out around her petite frame. Her face was pretty, with well shaped eyes framed by long, wavy brown hair, but the thing which had immediately caught his attention was the white porcelain half-mask covering the right side of her face.

It was then that he knew he had seen the infamous Opera Ghost.

“Yes,” he says. “I have seen her as well.”

"In your dressing room?"

"Yes."

“Shouldn’t we tell someone?”

Erik scoffs. “What would that gain us? The managers are barely handling their own affairs without knowing that we are being pursued by a madwoman. Besides, for all their talk, no one really believes that the Phantom of the Opera is real. We would be labeled mad, and then what?”

“Then we are to do nothing?” Raoul asks incredulously.

“We are to remain beyond her reach,” the singer corrects. “We stay together, when it is possible, and when it is not we stay in public. When we have time, we discover what we can about her.” He pauses. “You say that she appeared in your mirror?”

"Yes."

"What else happened?"

Raoul glanced surreptitiously at the ground. "I don't want to talk about it," he muttered.

"There may be something important that you're not telling me."

"I don't want to talk about it." As he spoke, the dancer stood up ramrod-straight and looked Erik in the eye. His entire being radiated more force than the singer knew he possessed as they stared in silence at each other for several long, agonized moments. Finally, Erik tore his eyes away and shrugged.

"Very well," he said, and left it at that. "She has appeared in both of our mirrors. We must discover how she achieves this.”

Raoul relaxes a bit, apparently comforted by the knowledge that they will not be idle. “Perhaps we should tell Mme. Giry, if no one else. She is a sensible woman, who knows much about the Opera. Perhaps she could assist us.”

Erik waves a hand dismissively. “She is a sensible woman, which is precisely why she will not believe us. We must keep this entirely to ourselves, if we do not wish to wind up in an asylum.”

“At least there the Opera Ghost couldn’t follow us."

“And we would both be out of a job. Not to mention, we would also be unable to find a new one. Mental cases are not popular as workers.”

“What do we do if she reappears?”

“My advice? Keep a weapon on you at all times. It may do us no good, but at the very least we can take the edge off her eagerness to make off with us.”

Raoul smiles a little. “...I take it the evening’s performance is over?” he asks after a moment.

“Yes,” Erik replies, and adds in a disgusted tone, “Everyone was all a-flutter over your absence. Even Mme. Giry seemed concerned.”

“Everyone?” Raoul echoes dryly. “So you were concerned as well?”

“Hardly. Even had I been inclined to, extraneous feelings are a liability on the stage.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Erik scoffs. “If you have nothing better to do than mock me, I suggest you find the nearest crowd and disappear into it; you certainly won’t be welcome in my dressing room anymore. If, however, you decide to regain your manners, then I suggest that you take a few minutes to groom yourself while I finish changing, and then we will accompany each other to the front door.”

“Groom?” the dancer echoes, a little indignant.

“Yes, groom. You look as though you have been mauled by dogs, and I refuse to appear in public with you while you look that terrible.”

Raoul scoffs a little himself. “As you wish,” he replies, watching as Erik disappears behind the screen set around the southwestern corner of the room before moving to the mirror and attempting to rake his hair back into some semblance of order with his fingers. He is uncertain as to the exact purpose of the screen, seeing as Erik has nothing in the way of modesty, but he hasn’t yet lost his manners enough to pry. Besides, Erik has been courteous enough not to ask about several of Raoul’s peculiarities, so he deems it only fair.

The singer reappears a scant few moments later, neatly dressed in a set of evening clothes. He looks Raoul up and down, his expression critical, before stating, “You are still not really fit for public viewing, but it will do. Come along; I expect we shall have the entire Opera descending upon us in short order, agog with curiosity.”

“At least then we shall be in public,” Raoul says, shrugging.

Erik grimaces. “If a pack of silly hyenas can be called public.”

“Congratulations; they are your public.”

“Yes, I must remember that next time I dare to set foot on the stage,” Erik sighs, rolling his eyes. “Come along. If we are to be mobbed, we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Raoul nods, raking his fingers through his hair one last time. Erik throws open the door, gesturing the dancer out first, and closes it as he steps out after. Before the door clicks shut, he sees something shift in the mirror and a chill runs down his spine.

If he had gotten a longer and closer look at it, he might say it was a woman’s shape, waving at him as he departed. But he hadn’t seen it properly, and he tells himself that it was nothing more than a reflection of the lamp flickering.

All the same, it doesn’t stop him from picking up his pace as they head towards the public halls.


End file.
